Fetish queen

There's nothing like slipping into tight latex and letting my slaves worship me. They ache to drag their tongues along my stiletto heels, desperate to taste the glossy shine of my boots. My breasts strain against the slick fabric as I touch myself, slow and sure, lost in the feel of my own skin and the heat building between my legs. I keep them on their knees, hungry, while my fingers move faster, slick with need, the room thick with the sound of their breathing and the sharp click of my heels. Every stroke pulls me deeper, every glance they steal makes me wetter. I come hard, breath catching, latex clinging, while they watch, aching, still denied.